


only you and me by the borderline

by seaofanxiety



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofanxiety/pseuds/seaofanxiety
Summary: Rhys has a few questions. Jack has a few answers, for once.





	only you and me by the borderline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neilwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neilwrites/gifts).



> honestly this is all lynn's fault
> 
> this is a short exercise that i wrote to get their characters down, its part of a bigger universe and fic, but lynn convinced me that it does very well as a standalone so with much convincing (read: demanding) i decided to post it!  
> feel free to ask questions in the comments or just generally harass me if you dislike it. :>

‘What’s it like? Being able to smell emotions on people?’ Rhys asks, between a long pull of the joint held in his fingers. He hasn’t had a chance to do this in a while and he’s in far too deep now to worry about how weird it is that he’s in _Handsome Jack’s penthouse_ , smoking a joint. High-school-Rhys would have lost his absolute shit if he had known this was waiting in his future. Currently, he’s too high to care where he is - he's just happy to have a comfortable couch to lean against and let the weed turn his stress into numbness. Jack rolls his eyes, grabbing his attention again from where his mind has wandered. He plucks the joint from Rhys grip and blows smoke rings on each exhale, like the showy asshole he is.  
 ‘ _Honestly_ , sweetheart, it’s like you don’t even listen to me.’ He passes it back to Rhys, leaning back in his chair, all loose limbed and messy haired. ‘I can’t really smell _emotions_ on people, I can just smell base level shit.’ Rhys rolls his eyes right back at him and fidgets with his hoodie one handed, the other hand pressing the joint to his lips again where he inhales absentmindedly. Rhys can feel Jack’s heavy gaze on him, following his fidgeting, but he doesn’t meet his eyes as he rephrases his previous question,  
 ‘So what _can_ you smell then?’

Jack steals the joint again and huffs out another smoke ring before passing it back. He hums and rubs a hand over his jaw as he thinks. Rhys tries not to stare too long at the curve of his biceps in his simple black t shirt. He distracts himself with putting the joint out after a few more pulls in the ashtray, now smoked down to a tiny hard to hold nub.  
 ‘Everyone smells different, naturally. We’ve all got our own scent. Even regular ass humans can smell it on their own clothes, and can smell enough of another person, yeah?’ Rhys nods to show he’s listening. Jack continues, leaning forward, propping his arms up on the armrests,  
 ‘So everything smells different, differently all the time. But there’s basic commonalities. You’ve got fear, pain, arousal, and anger.’ Rhys works his jaw, interrupts before he can help it,  
 ‘Sucks that three out of four are bad.’ Jack scoffs, smirking at him like its second nature at this point - but it falls flat somewhere. It slides off of his face too quick to really settle as his expression turns almost thoughtful.

 ‘Nah, cupcake, that’s how nature works. Scent is about _survival_. If it was all happy _useless_ crap, then it wouldn’t matter what anyone smelled like.’ Rhys nods again, and shifts to lay across the couch, head propped up on his hands,  
 ‘So what do they smell like? Is it the same for everyone or do all the individual scents change based on the person?’ Jack’s gaze tracks his movement, face gone neutral.

Rhys finds it weird whenever he isn't making some dumb face. At first, Jack was always making big gestures and big facial expressions, like a cartoon character. Like he had to keep his own circus show rolling all by himself. But now, they've grown more... _comfortable_ around each other, Rhys finds that there are more of these moments. Where Jack lets his overproduced personality fall to the side, and bits of _the real Jack_ slip in. The real Jack, where sometimes he sits quiet and still or sleepy without all the vicious snark. Before Rhys can think further on it, Jack starts talking again, answering his question,  
 ‘Most change slightly. Your anger smells like...,’ Jack pauses, eyes falling half lidded and he breathes in through his nose, as if doing so will help jog his memory, ‘ _charcoal_. The kind you use on those antique grills, where the smoke can sting your eyes for a while.’ Rhys bites on his bottom lip, half at the expression on Jack’s face and half at his own flustered reaction. He looks away when Jack meets his gaze, but he can still see out of the corner of his eye the smile playing about Jack’s mouth. Rhys pretends that his face isn't currently very hot, with what must be a visible blush.  
 ‘What does fear smell like on me?’ He asks, hoping it’ll be easier to just keep Jack talking until Rhys can change the subject to safe ground. There technically is _no safe ground_ with Jack, but Rhys can hope to distract until he can escape. Jack hums again, a low gravelly noise as he leans back in his chair, one hand playing with the drawstrings on his sweatpants and the other splayed off the end of the armrest. Rhys fixes his attention on the hand there, safely following the contours of each relaxed finger rather than look at Jack again.  
 ‘Fear smells mostly the same on everyone. Like moldy acid. Sometimes you smell like moldy acid with burnt sugar.’

Rhys can feel Jack staring at him again. Doesn’t really know what to do about it. He wants to ask what he smells like, underneath all the emotions, and what he smells like when he's aroused. He knows Jack has smelt it on him before. Rhys sees Jack move, shift off of the chair to crawl on his knees the few feet between them to Rhys side. One of his hands touch down on his lower back, sliding up and up to curl into his hair on the back of his head. The other hand curls right under his jaw, tilting his head closer to Jack until Jack’s breath rushes around Rhys’ ear. His lips brush against it as he speaks, voice so low and deep,  
‘Cmon, babe, I could hear you thinking it from _all_ _the way_ over there. Ask me.’ Rhys turns his head, just to feel Jack’s grip in his hair and those lips brush against him, feel the scrape of his rough hand against the sensitive skin of his neck. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it all rushes out of him anyway when Jack’s mouth moves to suck kisses under his ear, lips parted and teeth sharp.  
‘What do I smell like?’ Rhys manages to get out, words a messy stumble. Jack’s breath huffs out in what must be a laugh as he moves Rhys’ head so he can bury his nose at the junction of Rhys’ neck and shoulder. He inhales deep, teeth scraping over Rhys’ pulse point before he answers,  
‘You smell like chocolate and whiskey. The taste of you _lingers_ in my mouth and it drives me nuts for hours afterwards, sugar.’ Jack drives his point home with a long lick up Rhys’s neck, that rough tongue making him shudder. Jack bites along his jawline, little pricks of quick pain and then sucking kisses, until he’s at Rhys’ ear again, voice gone tight with desperation and arousal, ‘ _Come to bed with me_. I want to taste you everywhere.’

 And Rhys -well, Rhys can’t deny him anything when he asks like that.


End file.
